


dandelion and burdock

by asphodelgrimoire



Series: suck it and see [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bickering, Bigender Alex, Other, alex is suave af, thomas is an awkward hoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 13:10:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6611851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asphodelgrimoire/pseuds/asphodelgrimoire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He looked happy about whatever he was ranting about, and although his tiredness was omnipresent, he seemed less downtrodden than usual. His cheeks were red, and his eyes were bright. Thomas whipped around to look back at his phone, fuming internally.</p><p>Damn Hamilton and his chocolate eyes and silky hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dandelion and burdock

**Author's Note:**

> title from "suck it and see" by arctic monkeys
> 
> alex's aesthetic is a mix between lily collins, lana del rey, and dane dehaan
> 
> and thomas is just a rlly awkward rich boy with a strong jawline
> 
> an ageless love story
> 
> (note: alex uses he/him pronouns btw)

Thomas sat his bag down on the chair next to him, ignoring other students who cast tired disdainful looks at him for taking up two seats. Not like there wasn’t a billion seats they could choose that weren’t next to him.

He got out his notebook and opened up to his last notes for International Relations, which were mostly about worldwide government structures, to continue them on the next page. His head was pounding, but at least he had espresso. That would surely get him through class without incident.

He took a sip of aforementioned espresso and didn’t pay much attention to the slowly filling room around him. Thomas absently fiddled with his phone, considering whether he’d actually try arguing with Hamilton again today.

(The answer was always yes, despite his desperate self-assurances that he could stop fighting with Hamilton any time he wanted.)

“You know, I came across this in the thrift store just down the road, and it was only 5 dollars! I figured- hey, I’ve owned these things for months now, why not finally have something to wear them with?”

Speaking of, he heard the aforementioned person’s grating voice getting closer. Thomas powered down his phone with a huff, not quite looking up yet. He didn’t want to make eye contact and engage quite yet.

“I’m so glad you’re finding clothes that you like! We should go back there this weekend and get more like this; It’ll be on me. I’ve been wanting a new summer dress, anyway.”

Talking to Peggy Schuyler, apparently. He’d heard from Angelica that this was just a knock-off class for her, but he couldn’t imagine how something so important like this could be a  _back-up_ for something like _theatre._ She and Hamilton were friendly with each other, in any case.

When he saw them sit down a few rows in front of him in his peripheral vision, Thomas finally looked up to see Hamilton sitting sideways in his chair and almost choked.

Hamilton, sitting sideways in his chair, wearing a _flowery mini skirt_. He couldn’t hear what they were saying to each other after they’d sat down, but now Alex was pulling up the hem of his skirt just enough to be obscene, revealing lacy white thigh bands.

Thomas quickly turned back to his phone to avoid being caught staring. He knew about Hamilton’s gender, but clothing preferences had never even crossed his mind, considering Hamilton mainly wore sweatpants and hoodies that had seen better days. It wasn’t the idea of him wearing “female” clothing that fazed Thomas, but rather the image of Alex in one of the shortest skirts he’d ever seen. He was also wearing a baggy grey t-shirt that Thomas thought he’d seen before, and he had on what looked to be Angelica Schuyler’s pink converse wedges. Thomas really doubted that Hamilton had bought a pair for himself in the last few weeks, and the silver shoelaces confirmed his suspicion that the shoes were really Angelica’s.

Thomas looked up again, just a bit, perhaps to assure himself that he wasn’t hallucinating. By then, Hamilton had smoothed down the fabric and was probably talking to Peggy about something else. He looked happy about whatever he was ranting about, and although his tiredness was omnipresent, he seemed less downtrodden than usual. His cheeks were red, and his eyes were bright. Thomas whipped around to look back at his phone, fuming internally.

Damn Hamilton and his chocolate eyes and silky hair.

“What the fuck,” Thomas whispered passionately, his brow furrowing as he approved an update for the Chipotle app. He wasn’t really paying attention to the phone, but it was a way to avoid being caught gawking.

(Not that gawking was even _close_ to what he was doing. He was _observing._ )

Class started as usual, and he only hoped to forget what was happening 3 rows in front of him.

-

It was obviously the skirt’s fault he got grilled to the point that even Professor Franklin had to repress laughter.

Thomas grumbled as he gathered his things, metaphorical tail between his legs. Students had begun to filter out through the doors at the side of the room, and he followed suit. He had mixed feelings about clearly losing to Hamilton in the argument of the day, so to speak. Even he could admit that his own stance was fairly weak, and that he was just trying to be difficult, but Hamilton had called him out on it. He drove his point and talked for _even longer_ than usual, no trace of doubt in his voice. Some days, he’d waver, but not then.

He was completely confident.

Thomas couldn’t help being a little proud of how Alex had put his hands on his hips and stared down at him victoriously. Maybe he’d lost, but at least he was somehow keeping Hamilton on his toes. And maybe it was nice to see him with an expression other than pleading or frustrated.

Walking out, Thomas saw Hamilton walking off with Peggy and Eliza. They stopped, and Hamilton gesticulated wildly for a moment as the girls glanced at each other with a knowing look. Then they parted, leaving Alex in his wedge sneakers and striped ankle socks. He turned just as Thomas was going to walk around him. _Great._

“Jefferson,” he said, his tone light but cautious. His shirt, tucked into the skirt, billowed around him in the breeze. Hamilton looked like he was going to be swallowed up by the fabric at any moment, but his expression didn’t betray any fear. He even seemed muted compared to his normal self. Thomas would be worried, but Alex’s face was sunnier than he’d ever seen before. “That was terrible, even for you,” he teased, with a self-satisfied smile.

_Why did that have to be so cute?_

“I know, I know,” Thomas smiled back, letting it widen when Hamilton’s look shifted to surprise at the confession. “I was railing for a fight.”

“Really? The great Thomas Jefferson, desperate to argue with me, a lowly urchin? Is there something you’d like to tell the class?” Hamilton put his hands on his hips and raised an eyebrow, imitating a chiding teacher perfectly.

“Maybe it’s the skirt,” he quipped, then at Hamilton’s face twisting in confusion, realized how terrible that sounded. “Not that I have a problem with you, wearing skirts- it’s just different, and you’re-”

“You like my skirt?” Hamilton grinned and pinched the hem of it, lifting it until just a few scallops of the lacy thigh bands were visible.

Thomas stammered, both frustratingly incapacitated by the sight and pissed off that Hamilton had come to that ( _correct_ ) conclusion.

“Oh my god, you do, don’t you?” he laughed incredulously and smoothed his skirt back down. “That’s adorable,” Hamilton seemed genuinely endeared by the idea of Thomas struggling through class because of the flowery piece of fabric around his waist. Thomas huffed, but he continued. “Don’t worry, I can’t tell you the number of days I’ve been weakened by the sight of you in sweatpants.”

This time, Thomas did choke. His mind had instantly gone to _holy shit I was wearing sweatpants last week_ and re-analyzing every look Hamilton had ever thrown his way. He didn’t bother feigning shock at the actual admission; Hamilton was pretty well-known for his lack of brain-to-mouth filter. It was just that he couldn’t imagine…

“Did I say too much?” Hamilton smiled abashedly, but an underlying tenseness was apparent. He was steeling himself for dismissal, maybe.

“No, just… This is not a conversation I expected to have today, I guess,” Thomas laughed, a tinge hysterical. “You do look good.”

“Oh, well, I’m glad you can admit that much,” he responded, poking Thomas’ chest accusingly with one finger. Hamilton, being playful with _him._ They’d never had a more pleasant exchange. He had to wonder whether or not wearing clothes Alex actually liked made a difference in his demeanor. Nothing indicated a change in behaviour; he still looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, like he hadn’t eaten more than a granola bar that day, like he was railing for a fight. But his eyes were bright and crinkled at the corners with a teasing smile.

“Do you like skirts over pants?”

Alex’s smile morphed into a thoughtful frown at the question, but it didn’t seem like he had to do much thinking at all. “I would rather wear skirts all the time, honestly. But you know, I can’t find any decent quality ones with the money I have.” When he said _you know,_ he made it quite obvious that what he meant was _obviously you wouldn’t know,_ and Thomas had half a mind to be indignant.

“I know,” he said, and Hamilton glared a bit, as had been expected. “I heard you and Peggy talking about going somewhere to buy more, and she offered to pay, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, well, she thinks she’s going to pay,” Hamilton snorted bitterly, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ll just stall every time she wants to take a shopping trip. I don’t need handouts.”

“It’s not a handout,” Thomas protested. “It’s your friends wanting to buy you things that make you happy. It’s a skirt.”

“It’s my friends pitying me, and yeah, I think that counts as a handout,” he snapped. Thomas didn’t understand why Hamilton couldn’t just let himself be happy for once. It wasn’t like he would be asking for something huge; it was just a matter of going to Goodwill and spending twelve dollars at most.

He huffed, not wanting to back down from this of all things. “Well, I’m not your friend, and I sure as hell don’t pity you, but if you want a skirt, I’ll get you a fucking skirt. There. Still a handout?“ 

Hamilton’s brows knitted together. “Why? God knows you’d never shop at Goodwill, so what? You’re gonna get me a skirt from Dolce and Gabanna?" 

"Exactly how much would it piss you off if I got you a Dolce and Gabanna skirt?" 

 "Extremely." 

"Great. It’s settled. Dolce and Gabbana skirt, it is then,” He grinned as Hamilton’s face twisted in repulsion. “I kid, I kid, where would you like me to get you a skirt from? Forever 21 or something?" 

Hamilton sighed and put his head in his hands as if trying to ward off a migraine. "Why are you doing this?” he asked, sounding positively miserable. 

“Because I haven’t seen you smile so much since you told everyone about flirting with Eliza Schuyler during Spring Break at Laurens’ lake house so obnoxiously that she ended up ‘accidentally’ pushing you off the dock,” Thomas said, and saw Alex’s shoulders shake with suppressed laughter for just a second or two before he was back to griping quietly. “Look, I get it, you don’t want pity, but this isn’t offering to pay rent. I’m buying you a skirt. This is more for me than for you, anyways.”

“Figures,” Hamilton quipped. “But how so?”

“You’re more pleasant to fight with when you’re in a good mood, and I’d infer that putting you in a skirt might do wonders for your attitude.”

“Uh huh, skirts putting me in a good mood, hm?” Thomas turned red, ready to clarify that he didn’t mean it like _that,_ but Hamilton was too quick for him. “Keep digging that hole deeper for yourself.”

“Let’s not stray from my point, if you will,” he snapped. “Just let me buy you a skirt, dammit.”

“And if I say no?”

Hamilton was apparently trying to wear him down, and it was working. But he’d persevere. “I’ll do it anyway.”

“Well then,” he started, his voice sultry and mocking. “Mr. Jefferson, you drive a hard bargain. I suppose we have a _deal.”_

Thomas huffed, but reluctantly took the hand Hamilton had thrust out for him to shake. "Deal." 

 - 

Next Tuesday, he had another International Relations lecture. Put his bag on the seat next to him. Sipped at his coffee and glaring tiredly at everyone who passed him. Hamilton was wearing sweats. Professor Franklin had some weird talisman on his desk. Peggy Schuyler shot rubber bands at a circle on the whiteboard. 

Class as usual. 

Thomas had come out of the Daily Discourse with the upper hand, but he suspected Alex was going easy on him. Or he was just too exhausted to find loopholes in both of their arguments. 

Either way, Thomas didn’t consider it fairly won. But that was a subject for another debate. 

As always, Hamilton walked Peggy to meet up with Eliza in the courtyard, then split up at that point. Thomas followed them out as discreetly as possible, lagging behind until the sisters had waved goodbye. 

"Jefferson,” he said, a bit irritated and a bit fond. 

“Hamilton,” Thomas responded, and pulled a paper sack out of his bag. Hamilton seemed to be perplexed. 

“What is that?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you open it?” He handed over the sack to Alex, who took it hesitantly. 

“A sulfur bomb? For me? Oh, you shouldn’t have,” Despite the nihilistic comment, he opened the bag a little to see what was actually inside, clearly curious. Thomas rolled his eyes. He then got to see Hamilton’s facial expression shift from confusion, to recognition, to pure unadulterated horror. “You fucker!" 

Thomas cackled. 

"You said you were kidding!” Hamilton shouted, taking the Dolce and Gabbana skirt (from their spring collection, Thomas had learned) out of the sack and gesturing angrily with it. “How much was this fucking thing?" 

"12 dollars. I take back everything I’ve ever said about Goodwill,” he admitted, delighting in the look on Hamilton’s face getting exponentially more confused before his eyes. 

“You… fucker,” he said, quiet and almost sounding surprised. 

“So now that you know it wasn’t bought at the small price of 1700 dollars, do you like it at all?” Thomas grinned as Hamilton rubbed the skirt against his cheek, still looking shell-shocked. 

“I’ve never had anything this nice before,” Alex said. That was not exactly what he was expecting, but when had Alex Hamilton ever been predictable? “I- I love it." 

The conversation was getting into uncomfortably emotional territory. He didn’t exactly know how to proceed. "Uh, yeah, I’m… glad." 

Hamilton looked up at him with wide glassy eyes, skirt clutched to his chest. "Can we go back to your house?" 

Thomas stammered. "Sure, sure.”

Alex nodded graciously and followed after him in the direction of Monticello. The walk was mostly silent. 

“Thomas?” Hamilton lilted suddenly after they crossed onto Thomas’ street. 

“Yes?" 

"Can you French braid?”

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr: transaaronburr.tumblr.com


End file.
